It's Like a Pennsylvania Screw

I'm screwed here, too, in Perseid-viewing.

I never saw the Perseid meteor shower in its glory when I lived in Pennsylvania, not only because of the frequently-overcast sky and heavy haze of humidity, but also because the gnats and mosquitoes would carry one off piecemeal if one tried to sit out to view them.

Here in California, the air is (normally) relatively clear at night, and the bugs could be thwarted by layers of clothing that also kept one warm on the (normally) chilly nights. Forget it this year. It's still hotter than the bejabbers outside at dusk; no way am I going to don a robe and thick socks and a long-sleeved shirt tonight. And that would be a necessity, as all the papers and radio news are full of warnings about mosquito-carried West Nile Virus, that has killed a few people this year. (Bernie's commute partner's neighbor was recently admitted to the hospital with West Nile Virus.)

Sleeping indoors last night, I not only did not cough in my sleep, but also did not cough after waking. Until the weather changes, indoors it is for me, alas, and that will also preclude me waking at 2 am and watching the sky through the roof of the tent. What a bite. Well, maybe I'll be alive next year to try again.

One night, back in 1990 or '91, Bernie and Alex and I were lying outside in an evening, watching for meteors at the end of July. We were all bundled in warm clothing and quilts and sleeping bags and such (oh, those normal summers!) and as we watched the sky, Alex and Bernie saw something in the sky that they found unusual. "Did you see that?" Bernie asked his daughter. "Yeah!" she replied, "What was it?"

A good researcher, I separated them immediately and interviewed them both individually. "A blur seemed to move across the stars, distorting them," Bernie said. Alex reported, "It was like the alien in Predator in how it refracted the light, making it seem almost transparent." Both of them saw something, but what it was eludes us to this very day. I know that a night or so later, I saw three odd lights moving against the wind that were NOT conventional aircraft (Bernie saw them, too) and that was the last time I sprawled out under the open stars looking for things in the sky late at night.

Well, of course I love my tent, but I don't open my eyes when I'm alone. And Howie is usually there with me if Bernie is not. And I have Babe, who is a match for any alien invasion.

But oh, well. Tonight I will be inside, loaded with painkillers for my back, hiding from the pollen and the heat, the geriatric Babe guarding the hallway rather than the sky. And not at all looking forward to the morning, when two cords of wood will be dumped in my driveway, awaiting me to stack it for the coming winter.

Winter. That's like some sick fantasy itself.